


These Accidents of Faith and Nature

by melislostinthestars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melislostinthestars/pseuds/melislostinthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that’s how Stiles ends up with a branch of the falling tree smacking him in the chest and leaving him laying splayed on his back in his neighbour’s artificial pond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Accidents of Faith and Nature

*~*~*~*

He’s driving home along the preserve, minding his own business, when he spots Derek Hale trudging along the side of the road. It’s grey and windy and looks like a fierce thunderstorm is on the way so Stiles slows the Jeep alongside Derek and leans over to call out the passenger window and ask if he needs a ride. Because they’re kind of acquaintances now, right? Stiles is never sure how to define their relationship, but he’s no longer afraid Derek will decide to kill him, and he was raised properly enough to not let people walk home in the rain, so there’s really no harm in offering him a ride, right? 

“Hey, Derek, want a lift?”

But when Derek turns in his direction, he notices the pain on his face right away and the way he’s leaning forward, arm curled protectively against his side.

“Stiles?”

Stiles steps on the brakes, leans over and opens the passenger door. Derek clearly wants the ride, but gives him a questioning look, like is he sure he wants to do this, to get involved?

Stiles just sighs. “Get in, you mangy wolf, I’m already involved in your shit.”

Derek rolls his eyes and climbs up into the Jeep, sitting back with a wince and shutting the door. Stiles almost misses his grunted “Thanks”, but just puts the vehicle back in gear.

“Alpha?” Stiles asks, knowing it takes longer to heal from their wounds.

“Wolfsbane bullet,” Derek confesses. “Had a run-in with the Alphas, some hunters crashed it. Didn’t know them. I think they came to check on the Argents after all that stuff went down with Gerard. Got hit by a stray one.”

“Where are you headed then?”

Silence.

Stiles gapes at him. “You don’t have a plan?”

Derek glares back.

“Did you ever think maybe about calling someone? We’ve done this before you know.”

“I remember,” the alpha admits begrudgingly.

Stiles just sighs and makes a right turn. “I’ve got some wolfsbane bullets stashed at my place.”

In his glances from the road to Derek, he can’t tell if the look he’s getting is more impressed or angry, but Stiles had thought a lot about this and he’s firm in his elaboration. “I had Allison get them for me. Not all werewolves are friendly, clearly, and those who are sometimes have need of these bullets, cough cough, case in point.”  
Derek goes back to staring out the windshield and Stiles takes that as approval.

The storm hits in earnest, and they pass a large vehicle crash on the way, swarming with fire rescue and paramedic teams. Stiles notices his dad’s cruiser there too. He slows down but Derek makes a pained noise and Stiles steps on it again, because last time, Derek may have growled, but he didn’t make pained noises.

And last time, Stiles didn’t care so much about Derek being in pain. But this time, well, he couldn’t help but care for the guy. They’d saved each others’ lives too many times. And Derek may be a brooding, emotionally constipated werewolf with trust issues and too much ego, but Stiles had begun to see another side to Derek. The man who had lost his entire family and was flying blind, making decisions left and right because he had to pretend he still knew what he was doing, even when all he probably wanted was to ask someone for help. Except he couldn’t. Because he was the Alpha. And he didn’t do trust, apparently. So it was up to the pushy and annoying Stiles to stick his nose where it didn’t belong and offer Derek some unsolicited help.

They’re almost there when they come upon a tree that has fallen into the street and Stiles pulls over, smacking the steering wheel with a frustrated groan. He does not relish the idea of dragging an injured werewolf the last block to his house. For a moment, he looks at Derek sitting pale as death and panting in the passenger seat and contemplates leaving Derek here and just going to get the bullets, but as though Derek can read his mind, he grunts and throws an arm up to the door handle, opening it with a jerk and sliding out ungracefully to end up leaning heavily against the side of the Jeep.

Stiles hurries out and around the front, cursing as cold rain falls down the back of his collar and grabs one of Derek’s arms, putting it behind his shoulder. Derek allows the contact, so Stiles puts an arm around his waist to help steady him and they set off slowly in the direction of Stiles’ house.

After a few minutes, Stiles realizes they’re both soaking wet, stumbling through the rain, and it’s all a little too familiar. At least this time Derek can move, if not very well. Derek’s breathing becomes more and more laboured and Stiles begins to actually worry about him. He tightens his grip on Derek’s arm and waist and notices as he does that his left hand is wet with something thicker than rain. Looking down, he sees it is covered in Derek’s blood, which is slowly soaking the bottom of Derek’s shirt and the top of his jeans and running away pink in the rain.

The neighbour’s house is dark, and Stiles decides to cut through their backyard instead of walking around the corner.

“This way,” he says, leading Derek onto their property and heading across the yard.

The storm picks up and Derek pauses, like he’s listening to something nervously. Stiles is about to nudge him forward when a huge crack resonates from above them and for some reason Stile knows exactly what it means and without even thinking he shoves Derek aside.

And that’s how he ends up with a branch of the falling tree smacking him in the chest and leaving him laying splayed on his back in his neighbour’s artificial pond.

He fights against the tree branch, splashing pond water everywhere, but it won’t budge and he’s trapped underwater and he can’t move and he can’t breathe and suddenly it feels all too much like that night in the pool.

A hand grabs him, pulls his head up, and his face meets fresh air. Pouring rain and fresh air, but the air is nice.

“Oh how the tables turn,” Stiles gasps when he can finally breathe again.

“What?” breathes Derek. He looks even worse. His eyes are wide and his breathing is ragged and his skin’s so pale it practically glows in the dim light and the rain.

Stile just laughs breathily and coughs some more, grounding himself in the feel of Derek’s strong hand under his neck.

But in the rain, the water level’s rising. Derek isn’t strong enough to lift the tree. Help is out on the edge of town at the crash site.

“Stiles,” Derek begins, his voice rough and weighted and resigned.

“No.” Stiles stops him. This is so not the end. He isn’t going to drown here in a freaking _fish pond_ a hundred feet from his house. It’s not happening. “No, no, no, no.”

Fingers tighten at the back of his neck, and Derek leans in, meeting his eyes. “Stiles, you’ll be okay. I need you to tell me where the wolfsbane is.”

Panic grips Stiles in a new way. “No. Don’t leave me here. I’m not telling you. You can’t. Don’t leave me here. No. Get me out. Get me out get me out get me out.” His breaths are coming faster and he can hear the blood rushing in his head and he’s not an idiot, he knows what this is. He’s had one or two in his lifetime. But a panic attack is not the thing he needs when he’s already losing feeling in his lower body and struggling to breathe and freezing cold and there is an actual physical weight pressing down on his chest.

“Stiles! Stiles, calm down.” Derek’s fingers move from desperate clutching to soothing strokes at the nape of his neck under the water. “Just breathe, Stiles. Breathe. You can do this. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Breathe.”

Stiles laughs at that. He’s pinned under a tree in a raging storm and Derek’s trembling and pale and dying but he’s not going to let anything happen to him.

“Stiles. Focus. I need you to tell me where the bullets are.” Derek knows he could look for them himself. But there isn’t enough time for him to search the entire house, and he knows Stiles will have picked a genius hiding place.

Stiles looks up at Derek. His lips are tinged blue and his expression is losing its controlled edge. Stiles can read the panic there. He holds the key to Derek’s survival. Just as Derek holds the key to his. But for how much longer, if he doesn’t get his hands on those bullets? He’s terrified, he’s in pain, and he’s completely helpless. But he can do this one thing. He can give Derek this. He can save him.

“In my mom’s studio. It’s across the hall from Dad’s room. The key’s over the doorframe. The bullets are in a flat box behind the canvas painting of a bridge hanging on the wall.” Stiles closes his eyes, resigned. He’s given up the last thing he had. The leverage keeping Derek holding him up.

Derek’s other hand grabs Stile’s only free arm and guides it up to the tree trunk. Stiles opens his eyes, bewildered, and feels along the rough bark. When his arm is as far outstretched as he can reach, Derek closes his hand around a branch that’s out of his line of sight. He didn’t even know it was there. Stiles grips it fiercely, taking it for the lifeline he knows it to be.

Derek moves the hand from the back of Stiles’ head until it’s wrapped around the side of Stiles’ face and neck and leans in close, their noses almost touching, searching Stiles’ eyes, for what Stiles has no idea.

“I’m coming back,” he promises. And Stiles doesn’t dare say a word, simply nodding in response, his eyes filling with tears he hopes are obscured by the rain. “Wait for me.”

The hand leaves his neck and Stiles shivers at its loss, tightening his grip around the branch of the same tree responsible for this whole predicament. And suddenly it feels like a metaphor. Like a huge cosmic joke. He’s relying on a limb of the very thing that’s killing him for his only hope of survival. While the man who began all of this, the man who brought all of this fear and danger into his life, has also become his only hope of surviving all this danger. Alphas and hunters. Freak storms. Drowning in a freaking fish pond. He still can’t get over that. And he’s feeling a little delirious. The weight of the tree is painful, and breathing face-up against the pouring rain is challenging. His arm is cramping from holding himself up in such an awkward position. 

He wonders if Derek will come back for him. Or if he’ll go check on the pack instead.

And then he feels bad for even thinking that. Because he knows that they don’t have a relationship filled with the most trust and loyalty, but he did drag Derek this far. And as much as Derek tries to act all stoic and rolls his eyes at the antics of the teenagers, Stiles knows he cares. He knows that having this pack means something to him, knows that the loss of Erica is hitting him hard. Derek won’t leave Stiles.

Because Derek hates being left.

~*~*~*~*~

The back door splinters open and Derek comes crashing and flailing into the kitchen table, knocking a chair over. He presses both his palms onto the surface of the table and breathes deeply, regaining his balance. Staring straight ahead, his gaze comes to rest on a barbeque lighter sitting on top of the fridge. He takes a steadying breath and limps over, grabbing it and tucking it into his inside jacket pocket for when he locates the wolfsbane, no longer trusting the bic lighter in his waterlogged jeans.

He lurches up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing and the wall, Stiles’ panicked breaths echoing in his mind. No, not echoing. He can hear him still. Hear his heart racing and his ragged breathing as he tries to stay calm and fights to keep his head above the water and tilted away from the rain.

Derek pushes the pain away and heads down the hall, reaching up with a wince for the key above the door Stiles had described. Fitting the key into the lock, he pushes the door open, and, for a brief moment, urgency gives way to reverence as he steps into a space he knows few people in Stiles’ life have probably ever been given entrance to. But then he spies the painting of the bridge. It is stunning, and Derek tries to keep from getting it wet as he gently removes it from the wall and sets it to lean against a nearby desk.

Spying the shallow wooden box, he grabs it and turns to a nearby table. His hands shake as he removes a solitary bullet, once again using his teeth to pry it open and spill the coarse wolfsbane powder across the table. It takes four tries to get the lighter lit, with his hands shaking as they are, but once the powder is lit he gathers it off the table and shoves it into the wound in his side in one swift movement.

The pain is worse than he’d remembered. He falls to his knees with a cry, gripping the table in front of him and pressing his forehead into the cool metal table edge.

After his scream has died and his breathing is slowing back down, he has the sinking feeling something is missing.

Stiles’ panicked breathing.

He can’t hear it anymore.

~*~*~*~*~

Stiles shut his eyes. They dark grey sky hadn’t changed. The rain had stopped now, but too late. And the bitter irony of that would have made Stiles laugh if he had any breath. As it was, he was holding the last of it in his lungs for as long as possible. Still waiting. As he’d been asked to do.

_… if you hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?_  
 _Not much time._  
 _But more time to fight your way to the surface? More time to be rescued?_  
 _More time to be in agonizing pain. I mean, did you forget about the part where you feel like your head's exploding?_  
 _If it's about survival, isn't a little agony worth it?_

He thinks of Derek. Derek who had just lost Erica, who was visibly flailing, unsure how to handle the constant threats coming at him. Derek who had asked him to wait. Who had promised to come back for him. He thinks of Scott. Scott who needed someone to tell him he was important, to help steer his moral compass and reassure him that things will be okay, that they can do this. He thinks of his Dad, who has already lost too much and who is flying blind in this town. What would happen if Stiles wasn’t there to be his buffer between what he thought he was investigating and what was really going on? He thinks about Lydia, who is beginning to trust him, to come to him for help. She’s scared of the unexplained things that keep happening to her and she needs someone to help her figure them out.

He does feel like his head is exploding. It is agony. Part of him wants to just let the water in, to just leave all the terror and responsibility behind, but he sees their faces in his mind and he remembers Ms Morrell’s words and he knows she was right. He has to keep going, keep fighting. Because he has people worth fighting for, people who need him. Derek can not come back to find his dead body in this pool.

Derek.

_Where are you?_

~*~*~*~*~

Derek skids to a stop beside the stupid pond. Stiles looks like death below the water, his face completely submerged, his eyes closed, his hand no longer straining at the branch that wouldn’t have held his face above water at this point anyways. And he isn’t breathing. But Derek can still hear his heart beating.

“Stiles!”

The teenager’s eyes snap open and look at Derek in shock and panic and pain and relief all at the same time, which Derek didn’t even think was possible but he doesn’t give it any more thought. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and reaches down and wraps his arms around that stupid branch and pushes up with his legs as hard as he can, wedging his shoulder underneath when it is high enough and shoving the heavy limb to the side, to fall back down onto the slippery grass clear of the pond. 

Stiles sits up in a rush, coughing and spitting and breathing huge gulps of air. Derek tries to grab him, to check if he’s alright, but Stiles flails away, with the singular intent to get clear of the pond that had nearly claimed his life. He sits in a squelchy heap in the muddy grass five feet from the pond and Derek takes two strides over and crouches in front of him, gripping Stiles’ upper arms solidly.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

Stiles, his breathing becoming gradually more calm, takes a purposefully slow deep breath and looks up to meet Derek’s eyes, his wet hair plastered all over his forehead, and looking truly pathetic and shell-shocked.

“I think so,” he breathes. “Thank you for saving me from the god-forsaken fish pond,” he grinds out bitterly but genuinely.

Derek looks at him seriously. “How do you know it’s a fish pond?”

Stiles just gapes at him, sitting in his sopping muddy clothes, water droplets running down his face. “What?”

Derek turns and considers the pond, then looks back at Stiles with a curious expression on his face. “There aren’t any fish.”

Stiles, for once, is speechless.

Derek breaks his deadpan expression and a huge grin nearly blinds Stiles, who finally realizes he was being teased. He smacks Derek in the arm, who bursts out laughing.

Soon they are both laying on the soaking grass like complete lunatics laughing up at the sky, which is now clear and full of stars.

And Stile thinks, _if I’m surviving for this, a little agony is definitely worth it._

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "The Lightning Strike" by Snow Patrol
> 
>  
> 
> _These accidents of faith and nature_  
>  They tend to stick in the spokes of you  
> But every now and then the trend bucks  
> And you're repaired by more than glue
> 
>  
> 
> _Worry not everything is sound_  
>  This is the safest place you've found  
> The only noise beating out is ours  
> Lacing our tea from honey jars
> 
>  
> 
> _Why don't you rest your fragile bones_  
>  A minute ago you looked alone  
> Stop waving your arms you're safe and dry  
> Breathe in and drink up the winter sky


End file.
